Revelry
by Eulalie
Summary: Draco feels rejected. Harry feels lonely. On the most romantic day of the year no less. DRARRYSLASH.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Originally this was supposed to be a oneshot, but then it kinda got long so I split it in half. =D R&R**

Draco drowned another gulp of firewhisky, careful to remain on the fringe of the raging party – what would his housemates think of _the_ illustrious Malfoy reduced to sipping plebeian alcohol? It simply wasn't done, giving Draco a twinge of guilt and self-pity he managed to shake off. Malfoys also did not indulge in personal shame.

He glanced up at the stars, which seemed molten in the wavering lines of smoke, and supposed that the bloody oaf Hagrid would eventually notice the brouhaha occurring underneath his nose in the Forbidden Forest. Then again the dirty mixed breed was _not_ the brightest wand of the bunch. He proved it countless times, especially with those filthy hippogriffs. Draco rubbed his arm unconsciously in recollection, sneering in direction of the oaf's hut; the smoke of his fireplace was visible above the treetops, tarnishing the woodland revelry. Draco didn't think he could willingly enjoy himself with knowing the half-giant was not too far away, sawing at his monstrous corns. That's if, of course, the young Malfoy found a way to enjoy himself under the starry night.

Deciding that he spent enough time sulking, the Slytherin pushed himself off the tree stump he was perched upon, Vanishing the bottle of whisky in one deft bout of nonverbal magic. With a confidence that seemed haughty to the wrong, unpracticed eyes, Draco skulked around the trashing teens in search of a partner to dance, and ultimately bring back to his private rooms. Not because he was lonely on Valentine's Day, no, or that it was easier to escape the nightmares when he was sleeping besides a warm body. It was "simply" a sport of male bravado, to prove his Malfoy superiority and masculinity. One that Draco won, time and time again. Well, he _once_ did.

He circled the Slytherins who were all in some way dishonoring their ancestors – robes were tossed, trees were used as leverage, females were happily snogging females, while peering over erotic boys grinding with reckless abandon. In so many ways the festivities were wrong, yet that made it all the more deliciously right.

A gentle pressure on Draco's hips forced him to halt his gait. From the audacious touch alone, Draco deduced his offender to be Blaise Zabini, a fellow Slytherin and notorious flirt. The last Draco saw of him, the Italian was grinding ever so indecently against Theodore Nott.

"You look absolutely fuckable in the candlelight, Malfoy," Zabini purred. His fingers slipped underneath Draco's jumper to curl around the blond's hips more securely, guiding him to dance.

"If that is meant to entice me, you are sadly mistaken," Draco sneered while swaying his hips to the thrumming bass in contradiction. Zabini caught the opportunity instantaneously, pressing Draco's bottom against his groin. His fingers splayed lower along the blond's pelvis, rocking him in a desperate sensuality.

"Yet you don't push me away," Zabini murmured thickly. He nipped at Draco's ear, slicking his tongue along the line of his neck. "It's been much, _much_ too long."

"Mm," Draco murmured, compartmentalizing several responses. From those, he determined two. The first was to push the git away; Malfoys were never picked second, much less after a halfwit like _Nott_. The other was to take Blaise's obvious invitation for sex at face value – it wouldn't hurt their nonexistent relationship for another, rather satisfactory one-off. Neither choice was preferable, yet respect could be salved in the former, even if the Malfoy's chambers would be rather empty.

"It will remain that way, Zabini," Draco breathed decisively when Blaise spun him face-to-face. The Italian's expression clouded with disappointment and mild shock, but then he smirked haughtily.

"That'll be your first regret in the morning when you wake dissatisfied from a cheap fuck." Blaise's obsidian eyes glittered vengefully. "You'll remember that you could have had me."

Draco gave his patented sneer. "The second regret will be that I ever mounted your sorry ass in the first place."

"Who else can you get to fill my side of your bed, Malfoy? Crabbe? Goyle?"

Draco sighed, wrenching his hips away. It was rather ridiculous of him not to count on Blaise's infamous temper: the flirt took rejection far too close to heart and became outrageously brazen within the drop of a wand. However, it was more ridiculous that Draco took the git's lure from the beginning out of mere want.

"Or would you rather Potter?" Blaise hissed at Draco's retreating back. Several faces swiveled to watch Draco's humiliation through their lusty haze, eyes widening. The name was practically Tabooed.

"Salazar only knows how obsessed you've become with the prat since the war ended," Blaise continued, but then flapped a hand superciliously, a grin lifting his lips. "Too bad the Wizarding-World's Saviour wouldn't resort to such rubbish."

Draco's silent-spell shot the Italian prat a sufficient few meters into a tree, and the following hex left Blaise's boiled tongue tied in several lovely knots. The display of nonverbal and wandless magic swayed the crowd's favor towards Malfoy – the blond didn't need a few sharp words to balance the scale. That and the rest of the Slytherin community knew of Blaise's whorry mannerisms and lack of self control.

With emotionless finesse, Draco sauntered away from the scene, waving nonchalantly over his shoulder in a recently rare allowance of supremacy. His mind had already clicked away from Blaise's foolishness to consider his words: Draco was definitely not _obsessed_ with Potter. Inquisitive perhaps, but then what model of a human would he be without curiosity? That, and it was interesting nice to watch someone else's life shatter as brilliantly and quickly as Draco's own.

Following the war, Potter's popularity grew to a fever-pitch, sparking public rows among his minions. Draco thought it was only a matter of time before the Mudblood – no, _Granger _(as if there was a real distinction) and her fuckwit husband-to-be would grow envious of Potter's fame and fortune. Between the two of them they barely had a Knut to rub together, much less the inherited Black and Potter galleons resting uselessly in the Saviour's vault.

Draco cleared his thoughts and returned to stalking the party with gusto, as if he wasn't interrupted merely minutes before. He noticed some familiar faces in the throng of bodies, but disregarded them. If Blaise was any example, Draco needed new flesh rather than the same haunts, regardless of the ease. However, glancing at the tipsy party-goers, none seemed appropriate; they were far too easy.

_Potter would be a challenge,_ Malfoy thought absently about the secluded Gryffindor before disbanding a foolish, and repulsive and _impossible_ musing.

*

"C'mon you drunken cow." Draco arm around Pansy's waist tightened as he guided her clumsy feet up the stairs to the girls' dormitory.

"Oh Dray, Salazar knows I'm sorry," she hiccupped, blowing her foul breath unfortunately in Draco's face. "You know I didn't mean it!"

He sighed. "I know Pansy, and it is fine. He didn't seem worth the effort really anyway." That was a lie. François Landry was rather delightful, with a smooth French accent and delicious pair of tawny-olive eyes. He was on point with his banter and was delightfully fit, a consequence of dragon wrangling and auror preparatory classes. His pert ass was a bonus. Nevertheless, the spark of interest died when Pansy unceremoniously vomited on his robes. She never could hold her liquor worth a damn.

"Dray, look at you all sullen, with pretty hair…pretty, pretty hair. You'll find another fuck-buddy, though that Frenchie sure looked like Potter, eh? If his hair wasn't so mousy…." Pansy babbled some more, finding interest in caressing Draco's blond hair repeatedly as he unrobed her. "And those glasses, he didn't have those lousy glasses."

Although he would not admit it to Pansy, regardless of how drunk, François certainly was reminiscent of Potter, though definitely not in personality. The boy was an open book, perfectly aware of his power and attractiveness. It was what was lacking – the modesty that Potter wielded in his stupid Gryffindor arsenal.

"Hush up, Parkinson," Draco hissed when a Slytherin girl two beds away propped up her head in curiosity. "You need to sleep."

"Malfoys never sleep," she said thickly in a terrible impersonation of Draco's drawl. "I know, I know. I can handle myself by the way, you git. Go on and enjoy a good fuck, why don't you?" After that, she snored into a swath of dark hair.

Draco sighed, folding her socks and pleated skirt. When all she slept in was her white button down and a pair of silky knickers, he decided that his occupation as best friend was finalized. He slipped out of the dormitory, stalking over to the opposite side, undressing with a banished modesty. The empty beds were not going to ogle uncomfortably at the blond's alabaster skin. The wing was empty, Draco noted resentfully as he padded off to the showers. Each missing Slytherin were probably at different locals, yet in the same state of undress, either with a male or female (or one lucky bastard with both) thrusting sloppily (or in some cases being thrust _into_).

Draco tried to remember the last good one-off he had and came to puzzlement: it seemed like it was thousands of years ago, before the bloody war that robbed him of his prestige. Then, he could get a witty Ravenclaw, or an obnoxious Hufflepuff, if lucky a scraggily Gryffindor with obstinate determination. Now the Malfoy name was a dirty insult whispered among the houses, as Tabooed as Potter, but for different, darker reasons.

The sluice of water overhead eased Draco's tension and injured pride. _What would Father say? _he asked himself smartly. _His son not only desiring temptations of male flesh, but wounded he could not find a suitable fuck, on Valentine's Day no less? He might consider an Unforgivable_.

Not that his father would get the chance – the blond patriarch was locked up snuggly in Azkaban for his loyalties to Voldermort during that fucking failure of a war. Narcissa had warned her husband that his ambitions were going to wrench their family apart, but, like his son, Lucius was too self-absorbed.

_At least I'm not his jailmate_, Draco mused. _Thank Salazar for Potter_.

An image of the Wizarding Word's Messiah at the trail floated wantonly into Draco's mind. Even then Potter's popularity had worn on him: his skin was bleached as if he barely saw the sun, his eyes circled with black. When he spoke to the Wizengamot, his words far more eloquent yet slow and careful, there was a fierce conviction. Perhaps the Gryffindor's appearance was merely appealing because he testified the Slytherin's innocence. Or perhaps it was after, when Draco was in ecstasies for being acquitted, Potter returned his wand with a genuine smile.

A twist in Draco's stomach made him turn off the onslaught of hot water overhead. That smile was _not_ by any means appealing. For Merlin's sake, the brunet looked as if Dementors took turns tasting his soul. His eyes screamed discomfort for even being close to his scholarly nemesis. Yet he stood there, in all of his Potter bravado, and said he was _glad_ that Draco was free.

The blond quelled the emotions rising within him, padding back into his dormitory, which was thankfully empty. He dressed in the dark, pulling on a green jumper (which was not similar to Potter's eyes) and slacks. The dormitory was stifling, and an urge for air overwhelmed him.

The Hogwarts' halls were empty at such an hour (one in the morning). Even the professors must have given up their mandatory strolls in favor of cushy beds. _Or perhaps, in favor of personal Valentine's festivities_, Draco considered. The thought of Flitwick and McGonagall playing more than a polite game of wizard's chess made his stomach roll and fresh air more coveted.

The ascension to the Astronomy Tower kept Draco on edge – despite the reassurance that the professors retired to their rooms, a curious student might be lurking in the halls or Slytherins in the dark niches of the walls, ready to deride he unwanted blond. Draco's suspicion was confirmed when he quietly stepped into the circle of the tower, however he was surprised.

Harry Potter himself was leaning against the railing, his back sinewy in the darkness. His inky head was dropped in a hopeless way, gazing down at the scene below, supported by his palms. Draco leaned in the doorway, watching the Gryffindor in amazement: how the hell was he supposed to approach this? He considered turning tail and leaving, but the resigned Potter beckoned to him: he was an challenge, one that could raise Draco's repulsively low self-esteem.

Vengeful, Draco strolled into the Astronomy Tower.

---

The air of the Astronomy rolled through Harry's hair, whipping it against his glasses. It had grown out again, curling around his shirt collar because of negligence. Hermione had offered several times, as well as Mrs. Weasley, but Harry had refused adamantly – why should he waste his, and their time on something so sickly trivial? That's when Ron tossed his fork on the table and stalked out, pulling at his own red hair.

They had little patience with him these days, Ron and Hermione…the Weasleys in general to be honest. It wasn't Harry's choice to return to Hogwarts for the remedial 7th year, but rather Ron and 'Mione pressured him into it.

_What exactly am I going to do with my life?_ he asked, looking up at the nation of stars. They wavered from the fire in the Forbidden Forest. _The Slytherins already chose their path_, Harry though. Like usual, they were indulging themselves without consideration for the consequences. Harry watched a couple stagger up the castle steps, hands searching each other as if to document the differences in their physics.

_Perhaps that's why they're mad at me. They thought I'd go off and marry Ginny. _That was a disappointment. They lasted only a month after the war before Harry couldn't look into the girl's face without wincing. She was a mistake, not exactly because she was a terrible girl, but because she was the expectation. And it was not attractive: he couldn't love her knowing that their love was based upon other's desire, not their own. Everyone thought it would be Auror Harry and housewife Ginny and a house full of ginger children, reminiscent of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

But Harry didn't want Ginny, or want to be an auror at any rate. He was done fighting evil villains. Quidditch lost its appeal; he did not want to live like Oliver Wood and duck from paparazzi at every corner. Harry was happy living at Grimmauld Place off his parents' bank account in his self-imposed grief. Kreacher at least was supportive of Harry's decision. The poor house elf was starved of company.

"Perhaps I should just leave," Harry mused aloud, raking through his hair. Then he smirked in a helpless, sad way: Ron and 'Mione would never let him quit Hogwarts, or their foolish plans to make the Gryffindor inherit ambition.

"It is perplexing why you returned for the remedial year; the ministry would welcome you with open arms, regardless of how many NEWTs you have notched on your belt."

The sneering voice straightened Harry's back, and he turned to view the culprit. Malfoy sauntered to the railing of the tower, silver eyes luminous in the faint light. Despite Harry's instinctive reaction to draw his wand, he gave the blond the benefit of the doubt. Since returning to Hogwarts, the Slytherin was quiet in a passively friendly way, perhaps a consequence of Harry testifying for him before the Wizengamot, rather than against.

"I'm not interesting in becoming an auror, Malfoy," Harry responded smoothly, resting his elbows once again on the rail. He then realized that Malfoy didn't even mention the aurors, and prickled – already the blond managed to sneak information out of him. Annoyed, Harry asked, "What has kept you in this early? I thought you'd be enjoying the revelry in the Forbidden Forest."

Malfoy pretended to choke, a gleam in his gray eyes. "Harry Potter, not an auror? If the wizarding world only knew, they might just single handedly commit suicide. About the festivities," Malfoy began with a sigh, "I find them dull and shallow. They certainly have become a sad silhouette of what pureblood parties once were."

"I wouldn't know." Harry's tone was slightly bitter, but not biting. He glanced over to see Malfoy's profile calculative.

"And you, Potter?" His voice was smooth, like Fortescue's ice cream. "What has kept our Saviour up past his bedtime?"

Harry glanced again, irked by the pretentiousness of the blond's voice. He shook it off. "I couldn't sleep."

"Nightmares?"

The question surprised Harry, not for the word, but for the tone. Malfoy had tried to sound haughty and derisive, but underneath the façade Harry detected a familiar fear. Perhaps the blond suffered from nightmares himself.

"No, not nightmares; I mastered them a long time ago." The thought made Harry shiver, as he remembered darkly of a time when Voldemort would seize his dreams. "I've just a lot on my mind."

"I'm sure of it. It seems quite hard to be beloved by all, Potter. I have seen the way you slink around Hogwarts, your eyes downcast as if ashamed." Malfoy paused, as if waiting for a rebuttal. "It may be a testament of the Weasels and Granger harping upon you, wondering what adventure you have yet to undertake, trying to steal your spotlight. Or perhaps it is that you are a bit lost, without the Dark Lord looming over you."

"Or perhaps I'm sick of people, like you, who assume to know me and how I feel," Harry retorted sharply, pushing himself off of the railing. He paced, suddenly riled by Malfoy's words. "None of you could tell me apart from Adam, yet somehow you can explain my life more eloquently than me. Ron and Hermione aren't trying to 'steal my spotlight,' Malfoy. If they were, I'd let them have it, for Merlin's sake."

"So it _is_ the latter," Malfoy said speculatively. "I do not know who Adam is, but he obviously has not garnered as much popularity as you, Potter. Thus the reference is rubbish."

Harry could not fight a tiny smile forcing his lips; if only Malfoy knew how silly he sounded, ignorant to a universal myth. His pride might combust.

"I do not pretend to know you, Potter, I find solace in you contrastingly." The Slytherin paused and then sighed. "It is quite sadistic of me to find a bit of pleasure in knowing your life is not the well-planned perfection the Wizarding World expects. Makes me feel as if we are in the same cauldron, understand?"

Harry glanced at the blond warily, now standing stalk still. "Did someone smack your head against a wall? Slip something in your morning pumpkin juice?"

Malfoy turned on the railing, leaning his back against it now. His molten eyes were piercing, curious, _pretty_. The adjective slipped across Harry's mind like a whisper of silk, leaving his spine rigid once more. He did _not_ think the Slytherin git was attractive. Pretty, _maybe._

"Why do you think so? Do I seem poisoned?"

"The Malfoy I know, or knew, would happily slit his wrists before admitting we're equal."

The blond smiled, genuinely. Harry racked his memories, trying to remember if he ever saw the git smile. Sneer, definitely. Smirk, perhaps. Grin? Only wolfishly. But smile? Never, which was sad. Malfoy had a nice smile.

"'_Knew_' is correct, Potter. I am not the same naïve child I was years ago; after this war, I became introspective. I do not pride myself on the boy I once was, nor do I excuse it." Malfoy licked his lips before continuing, a meticulous motion that Harry doubted he was conscious of. "I owe a lot to you, however reluctant I am to admit it."

"It's fine. I don't hold debts."

Malfoy frowned, twitching as if he meant to step towards Harry. He licked his lips again and said, softly, "Perhaps I do not mind being indebted to you, Potter. What if I rather like it?"

Harry was mystified by Malfoy's meaning, if there was one.

"Again, you're assuming to know me Malfoy. I'm not the one to hold debts or grudges or whatever."

The pale brows rose. "If anything, you are parallel to me in holding grudges. Shall I not remind you of the past six years? No – on second thought, I will not. We are cultivating comradery, and I would rather not ruin it. However, the Weaslette…she seems to be the object of an infamous Potter grudge as of late, if I am not mistaken."

"You mean _Ginny_?" Harry scowled. "We had a falling out, if you _must_ know, but I'm not holding a grudge, Malfoy."

He smirked. "You just avoid her like the plague by chance?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you're watching me."

"How can I not?" Malfoy purred, flashing a grin. Fluidly, the blond stepped away from the railing. "You are an interesting character Potter."

"I think I'll take that for a compliment Malfoy. Are you sure no one drugged you?"

Malfoy frowned again, clasping his hands behind his back. He shook his head, cocking it to the side in a way that Harry was sure he knew was flattering. His hair caressed the length of his neck in a silvery waterfall. The sheen of it caught the light of the moon and glittered.

Harry knew if he attempted to console himself by believing the blond was completely unappealing, he would be a bloody liar. It didn't matter if Harry fancied girls or blokes or whichever – the fact of the matter was that Malfoy was _pretty_ and he knew it and was ready to use it to exploitive whatever wicked means he cooked up.

"How did you spend your Valentine's Day, Potter?" Malfoy asked suddenly, probingly.

"I think that's none of your business."

Malfoy smirked languidly. "I suppose it was spent alone, despite the number of willing women you could easily seduce."

"Again with the assuming, Malfoy." At least that, Harry could respond to.

"You did. How misfortunate." Malfoy licked his lips and Harry resisted the urge to throttle him for the action. "On the most romantic day of the year you managed to remain alone, without a decent fuck."

"Maybe that's the problem. I'm not into just decent _fucks_, as you put it."

---

Draco hoped to asphyxiate. This was beyond desperation. This was beyond reasonable.

"Is that why you're here, talking to me Malfoy? Are you looking for a festive shag? Thought I was just that easy?" Potter's eyes grew slatted. "You come out here, all contrite and alluring, licking your lips, shifting towards me…. I'm not stupid and I don't appreciate your means of seduc-"

Draco had rushed upon him, forcing the Gryffindor into one of the brick columns. One hand held Potter's collar, the other pinned his waist. The brunet trashed, trying to push Draco away, but the Slytherin had the better leverage. He ground his pelvis into the Potter's, finally stopping his squirming.

"I do _not_ think you are merely easy, Potter. However intricate my thoughts are, however confusing they are, I know for sure you are _not_ easy." Draco's voice was breathless, something he cursed himself internally for. He wanted to sound smooth, planned, as if he was removed from the situation, as if Potter wasn't affecting him with his eyes the size of Galleons. But it wasn't true.

"I've watched you from the beginning, the very beginning of this bloody adventure we have succumbed to in the past. I was the one to test you, to force you. I made you hesitant, Potter, always looking over your shoulder and wondering when the next hex would come. I was your master, goading you into being the powerful wizard you are now. The Dark Lord had no hold over you – he gave you little less than incentive. He was the looming threat at the end of your tunnel, while I was the prat tripping you along the way out of envy and desire."

Potter's opened his mouth to retort before smacking his pouting lips closed. His green eyes remained narrow, gazing warily. On closer inspection, Draco decided that his jade jumper wasn't akin to Potter's eyes – the Gryffindor's eyes were more viridian, like the deepest of forests, where the feet of men never trudged through.

"I've seen you at your height, Potter – beautiful, tantalizing, and powerful…_oh so_ powerful. And now I observe as you walk in shadow, head hung shamefully. At the beginning of this night, up till moments ago, I thought I found pleasure in knowing that your life, like mine, has collapsed, leaving us both vulnerable and raw. I have learned better however. I think that it is no coincidence that you haunted me today, your name brought up several times. Nor do I think it's a convenience that you stand before me, as usual at my mercy.

"I learned Potter…," Draco paused to swallow. "I learned that I want to rebuild you. It's only my right, is it not? I laid claim on you first, before you met Weasel or Granger or even Dumbledore. And unconsciously, I don't want anyone else besides you. Perhaps you corrupted my wand and by proxy it corrupted me. I don't know when these thoughts altered me – it seems as if in the last few moments, but I've known them forever."

Potter frowned, but his eyes were contradictory. Draco tried to decrypt them. They were allusive.

"Are you finally going to allow me to speak?"

Now Draco frowned. "If you so wish it."

"Well, first of all, I didn't think you used contractions, yuhnoe, it's instead of it is-"

Of all the most trivial things to note, this had to be the most. Again Draco cut off Potter, but this time with a forceful kiss. The scent of Potter was heady, musky, like cypress. In contrast, his taste was a sweet and exhilarating peppermint. Draco couldn't stop himself, as he sucked and licked desperately at Potter's lips like a needy whore.

The Gryffindor remained passive against Draco's onslaught of tongue and lips. His hands had somehow managed to slick up to Draco's shoulders where his fingers clenched and relaxed. The pulse of Potter's neck speed rocketed, which was conveniently by Draco's own hand – it reassured him that the brunet felt _something_. However regretfully, the blond pulled away. He felt more dejected than he had before walking out onto the Astronomy Tower.

Stepping away from the Gryffindor, Draco smirked. The Gryffindor was beautifully debauched, his glasses askew, cheeks pink, lips wet and glistening. His robes were crumpled, outlining a fit form. He looked far more naked clothed than others had in only their flesh.

"Let me finish," Potter said quickly, as if he expected the Slytherin to stop him once more, or better yet, leave (which was what Draco really considered).

"As you wish it," Draco rasped slightly.

Potter kneaded his forehead, where his infamous scar was hidden behind a dark fringe. Malfoy watched with rapt attention. "I don't know if I agree on some of what you said. You don't _own_ me Malfoy. I don't know what you want from me either. But I know what I want… and right now I wouldn't mind your company. But I'm not going to be just a Valentine's one-off, no matter how fancy your words are."

Draco twitched visibly. He should not have been so surprised by Harry's words, yet they were biting. He scowled at himself. _What am I becoming? Someone so sensitive I feel squeamish at words I already know?_

"You doubt the authenticity of my actions."

"If you want to put it that way." Harry shrugged.

"I _want_ you," Draco said quietly, leaning towards the brunet. The wind picked up and he could smell Potter's cypress scent, making his mouth temporarily water. He was careful not to pounce the Gryffindor as he had afore. "The owning is debatable, but I know I want you, whichever way I can get you. And I can assure you that you won't be '_just_ a Valentine's one-off.' Holiday be damned, all I want is you."

Potter's eyes grew unfocused at the last statement, his lips thinning. "I'm afraid I can only offer you friendship, Malfoy. If that's what you want."

"That's all you can offer me?" Draco scowled. He would not have minded if he knew it was untrue. "What would you gain from my friendship, honestly Potter? You have Granger and the Weasel. You have your hordes of fans. What _are_ you missing? A lovely blond on your arm who can challenge you in and out of the bedroom."

"You sell yourself short," Potter said with a hollow laugh. "If you think all you can offer me is a nice night, then I don't think we're on the same page."

Draco licked his lips. "So you want more from me? Interesting Potter. If you heeded attention to me, you might have realized that I am not merely offering sex (though I am not adverse to such methods). A relationship… perhaps, in due time. For the moment, I want _you_ to be my lover."

"Then I'm not interested."

The flat out denial wasn't good enough for Draco. No – he needed to be thoroughly rejected. He needed to know if Potter was completely averse to being Malfoy's lover. He reached out and touched Potter's cheek, which felt satiny to his fingertips, and did not meet resistance. In fact, the Gryffindor was surprised.

Draco dragged the pads of his fingers slowly down from the apples of Potter's cheek. Slowly, hesitantly, he dragged his thumb over the corner Potter's lips, which parted under his touch. His respiratory rate heightened. _Interesting_, the Slytherin thought. _For someone not interested, his body is responsive. Maybe if I appeal to a primitive need then he will realize his emotional need._

The questing fingers skirted down to Potter's throat, searching for a pulse. It thrummed violently, as if his heart was trying to escape into Draco's palm.

"Your body says otherwise, Potter," Draco said clinically, as if stating the weather. "You are interested, far more than you are willing to admit."

---

The touch of Malfoy's hand on his throat was enough to cause a stirring in Harry's groin. He was never touched so intimately – Malfoy probably didn't even know _how_ intimately. The fascination in Malfoy's eyes was enough to cause the warmth running through Harry's blood, but paired with the gentle touch and the Gryffindor feared he was admitting everything.

"Just because I'm responsive to your advances doesn't mean I welcome them," Harry said lamely.

Malfoy smirked, for once without his haughty air. He looked beautiful. "Which is why I meet little opposition?"

_Bloody nutter_, Harry growled internally. How the hell could he tell this blond _no_, especially Malfoy of all people? The blond oozed sexuality, sensuality, passion…. He was determined, far more than Godric's famed resolve. And Potter was desirous of romantic company. Ron and Hermione were suffocating with their overzealous relationship, making Harry feel lonely.

"You're afraid, aren't you?" Malfoy asked, cocking his head again in that way that made him seem angelic. "Afraid that in the morning I'll disappear and write a lovely expose for the Daily Prophet? That I'll mock you? You're afraid."

"You wish, Malfoy."

The blond grinned. "Then let me see some of that Gryffindor courageousness." Then his lips were overpowering Harry's again.

Harry tried to remain passive under Malfoy's touch, but it was impossible. His lips were soft, malleable and wet from constant licking. With each movement, a swath of blond hair caressed Harry's cheeks.

A soft moan purred from the back of Malfoy's throat as he pulled away to nibble on Harry's lips. "If I hexed you, you'd hex me back, wouldn't you Potter? Then why is it that you will not kiss me back? Afraid you'll like it? Afraid it'll lead to something more?"

Harry knew that Malfoy was baiting him, but it was working. The hands lying limp at his sides came up to encircle Malfoys neck, one fisting in the git's hair. The blond's eyebrows arched delicately.

"Is this what you really want?" Harry pressed his lips against Malfoy, wanting to bruise. The Slytherin trilled his pleasure in a groan, absolutely fine with the sadistic force. Malfoy probably didn't mind a little pain with his pleasure – he'd probably like to be chained up, bitten…. Harry's thoughts produced an answering whine of desire.

Malfoy pulled Harry closer, and Harry jolted at the feel of the blond's erection stabbing his hip. Stray thoughts flitted through his mind, as he wondered what another man's cock would feel or look like or more outrageously taste like.

_This isn't the way I meant to refuse him_, Harry shouted internally, trying to find the willpower to push away. _I'm not supposed to be doing this. _But it was all self-sabotage. He was in too deep now, beyond the point of no return. He couldn't give up the blond no matter how hard he tried.

One of Malfoy's hands travelled down Harry's frame, outlining each curve. He pulled at the Gryffindors robes until they pooled on the floor, leaving Harry in nothing more than his pajamas. As if lured by magnetic force, the blond's lips drew lower with his fingers, now finding refuge in the skin of Harry's neck.

"I really need to stop," Harry panted. The blond chuckled in his neck, nibbling down to the ridges of his collarbone. A hand skirted down Harry's figure and found the erection Harry was trying desperately to hide. Malfoy griped it and chuckled again when Harry gasped, tossing his head back against the column. He temporarily saw stars from the impact.

"We _really_ need to stop."

"Then stop me," Malfoy responded, collapsing to his knees.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: AHH, tis finished! Maybe enough reviews will make me contemplate a sequel!**

_I have not even touched him and he's already writhing_, Malfoy thought pleasantly as he tried to divest the Gryffindor of his pajamas – the tie was knotted and it took both fingers and teeth to loosen it. Potter shook as if he was going to jump out of his skin.

Draco kept his eyes on Potter's face the entire time he pulled down the flannel pajamas. His lips were parted as he breathed erratically – his eyes were wide with fear or was it anticipation? His obstinate chin pointed out rebelliously. Regardless of how he felt, he wasn't going to speak upon it, which suited Draco just fine.

Teasingly, Draco nuzzled the bulge protruding from Harry's plain cotton pants. And ever more the tease, he began lightly kissing the Gryffindor's quivering thigh, switching between them. He ran his fingers over the flesh, analyzing the softness, the tightness of the muscle. He was fit, impossibly so from adamant Quidditch training – Draco used to watch from the stands as the brunet lunged and ran and other exercises of the sort. He had convinced himself that he was merely looking for weaknesses, but was it just an excuse, even back then, to watch the way Potter's shirt strained across his chest?

The patience Draco promised himself he had was slowly waning. He wanted to toss Potter on the cobbled floor and pound into him. Yet somehow the blond doubted that would woo the romantic Gryffindor. He had to keep a steady pace, a luring pace or perhaps the Gryffindor might try to stop him.

His fingers inched up to caress Harry's erection through the itchy cloth binding him, delighting in the huffing above. Spurred on by Harry's obvious arousal, the blond tugged down his pants, binding his ankles together.

Potter was, of course, well endowed. His cock protruded from a mass of tight black curls, begging to be touched. Allured, Draco ran his thumb over the slit, smearing the precum there. Harry mewled responsively, tossing his head back. "Oh Merlin…oh bloody Merlin I'm going to hell," he hissed through his teeth, his body contorting as if hit by a _Crucio_.

Draco's salivary glands seemed to burst, filling his mouth. It was sick of him to _need_ to taste Potter, but then again, he was on his knees for the bloody git. How mad could he get?

His tongue shot out to taste the cum leaking at the tip, sliding it down the shaft curiously before returning to the top. He scrutinized Harry's reaction, who was gasping like a fish out of water, lips parting and pursing. His emerald eyes opened wide and he stared down at Draco. Harry swallowed a couple times, but couldn't manage to find words. Then again, he didn't really _need_ to. Draco read the need shaded over his features expertly.

Draco placed a kiss at the base of Harry's cock, kicking himself for the Hufflepuff-sensitivity of the act. As if to make up for that temporary lapse, he dragged his teeth from base to tip, smirking when the operation produced a soft howl from Harry's lips. Fueled, Draco enveloped the entire length in his mouth, making sure to keep pressure on the Gryffindor's pelvis: he was already threatening to buck his hips. Draco sucked greedily. His fingers came up to stroke the velvety flesh of Harry's balls, causing the erection to twitch inside his lips.

"Godric…. Malfoy, what if Filch catches us?" Harry ground out, his voice raspy.

"You'll just have to be quiet, won't you?" Draco shot back after he released Harry's cock with a languid suck. The idea of Harry being quiet though, was horrifying. He loved the sounds coming from the Gryffindor's lips too much to stifle them. Sighing, he unhooked the wand from his belt – not stopping his other hand's play with Harry's balls – and cast a strong _Silencio_ as well as a series of locking charms.

He discarded his wand onto the floor with a clack, turning his attention to the brunet's body. He replaced his lips with a hand around Harry's cock. Instead, he began licking a line down from the base of Harry's erection, surpassing his testicles, to lave his arsehole.

"Oooohno, Malfoy," Harry wheezed, trying to twist away. "You're going…too far. I can't…I'm going to…." He pulled at the blond's hair painfully, wrenching him from between his thighs.

Draco glanced up at him curiously, then it dawned upon him. A virgin, eh? It only caused his own erection to throb more painfully in his trousers as he imagined stripping that title away. Carefully, Draco straightened, ignoring his knees when they protested, and pulled the shaking brunet into his arms. He stole kisses from Harry's lips (_when did I start referring him by his given name?_), hands caressing Harry's sides.

"I know you're a virgin, Harry. I want you regardless." Draco pitched his voice an octave lower than usual, trying to entice the brunet.

Still, Harry tried to pull away, which ultimately only caused him to frot against Draco's very hard, very excruciating erection. It dragged a desperate groan from Draco's lips. Harry stopped, slightly amazed, his eyebrows shooting into his low hairline. They both panted in silence.

"I'm not bottoming, Malfoy," Harry finally said in an attempt to sound imperious, but it fell flat.

Draco grinned, pulling his hands away from Harry long enough to pull his jumper over his head. "I somehow doubt that, Potter."

---

_No way I'm bottoming_, Harry grumbled mentally as indexed Malfoys body. He was svelte and luminescent in the moonlight, his skin abnormally pale, but still breathtaking. He reminded Harry of Greek sculptures, with the same perfect proportions and the same alabaster tone. However, unlike those sculptures, Malfoy had a long, zigzagged, puckered scar marring his chest. It was nasty, probably still painful depending on the weather. A shot of remorse left Harry temporarily light-headed and sick.

As if under a trance, Harry couldn't resist touching it. He dragged his knuckles from Malfoy's shoulder down to just below his ribcage. He looked up from under his lashes to find Malfoy's mercurial gaze staring heatedly at him, his lips twisted.

"It's in the past, Harry," Malfoy said passionately, grabbing Harry's hand. He kissed the brunet's knuckles innocently. "We were different people then, under different circumstances. And tonight, we're making the future."

"You're so tacky," Harry responded, but let Malfoy's words soothe him. He reached out for the blond, careful of the trousers and pants keeping him immobile. He placed a series of delicate kisses along the line across Draco's chest, smiling inwardly when the Slytherin began to pant.

"You've barely touched me and I think I'm going to explode," damned Malfoy murmured honestly. It was probably just said to stroke Harry's ego, but it worked. Daringly, Harry began to trace the scar with his tongue now.

Draco's palm shot out to the column by Harry's ear to steady himself. He was on the balls of his feet, leaning towards him. _He smells like moonshine_, Harry noted before the blond captured his lips, sucking the lower, then the upper. He tilted Harry's face up for a searing kiss that Harry hoped wasn't as finalizing as it felt. It was a chaste kiss, compared to the exploiting kisses Malfoy had given prior, but that seemed to only worsen the intimacy until Harry's heart burned his throat.

"C'mon laddy-love," Malfoy said before pausing, then smiling in spite of himself. Cautious of the bindings around Harry's ankles, he dragged them to the stone floor of the Astronomy Tower. Temporarily shocked, Harry allowed the blond to straddle him.

Methodically, Draco tugged off Harry's pajamas and pants, tossing them away. He grabbed the robes only a bit away, however, bunching them up and placing them under Harry's skull, which only made the Gryffindor smirk: like _hell_ he was bottoming. Ignorant of Harry's plans, Draco then turned his attention to Harry's flimsy shirt, tugging it unceremoniously off and overhead.

"You're beautiful," Malfoy hummed reverently, skirting his voyeuristic hands all over Harry's frame. He dipped his head to seize a dusky nipple and Harry all but lost his mind. The blond was too good at making Harry somewhat unconscious. However, Harry needed to maintain the ability to process.

With an ample amount of strength, Harry rolled the Slytherin onto his back. His platinum eyes widened, then narrowed, probably already thinking of a sly plot, but Harry didn't allow Malfoy the time. He made quick work of Draco's belt, tossing it far away. It clanged against the railing, slipping off the Astronomy Tower entirely. The blond's trousers came next, which had a pleasant, silky feel to them. He tugged one leg, then the other, running his hands along the porcelain skin. They felt better.

Malfoy sighed and Harry immediately looked up, finding himself surprised that he actually enjoyed the sight. His cheeks were pink, and it spilled down his neck to his chest in an infectious flush. His metal eyes looked like liquid in their lusty haze, almost humane. And vulnerable.

Harry dragged his fingers along his _Sectumsempra_ scar once again, ending the path for one less traveled. He caressed Malfoy's shoulders now, tickling the inners of his elbow, his wrists. He stopped when he found the stale Dark Mark on Draco's forearm, bending down to kiss the fading skull, as if to ease the tension before continuing his travels. Now he ran his knuckles down his flanks, his thighs, his feet (which were just as long and lithe as the rest of him, with a perfect pedicure might Harry add)…. When he ended at Malfoy's feet, he traveled the trail back upwards, his lips (and occasionally, his tongue) joined the journey. All the while Malfoy sighed or huffed or moaned, watching eagerly and patiently. He didn't mind Harry's revelry, nor did he make any movements to halt it.

Harry ended his exploration at Malfoy's stomach, petting down the fine blond hairs disappearing into his crimson pants. He quirked an eyebrow at the Slytherin curiously: either he was feeling really festive this morning or he had foreseen shagging a Gryffindor. Malfoy only huffed and squirmed.

"Don't stop there," Malfoy pleaded, wiggling his hips more fervently.

Harry shot a half-hearted smile of anxiety at the Slytherin before hesitantly drawing down the blond's drawers. Those flew off the side of the Astronomy Tower to keep company with the belt.

_Malfoy's prick is pretty_, Harry thought waywardly. It stood pink and proud, a measurable amount of cum leaking without even being touched. The thatch of hair surrounding it was so light it looked nearly invisible. _At least I know he's a natural blond_.

"Don't be scared now, Potter," Malfoy said tenderly, grabbing Harry's hand. He curled it around his cock, hissing with the contact. He arched appealingly, seeking more. "It's just like wanking, except on someone else. Or are you that immaculate you never wanked, Potter?"

"Shut up Malfoy," Harry growled. How is it that he could do that? Be so annoying after being so sweet and expect good things out of it? Harry squeezed more than was prudent around the Slytherin's cock for good measure, but of course the kinky slut liked it – he hissed a long syllabic moan that sounded slightly reminiscent of Harry's name.

Harry tugged at Malfoy's cock, rubbing his thumb over the tip and down the shaft. Malfoys legs twitched now, as if he was going to kick. "Salazar," he mumbled, closing his eyes. He bucked into Harry's fist, timed to Harry's wanks. The sounds coming from his lips were certainly unholy. _I'm going to hell_, Harry reminded himself as his other hand, much out of its own accord, came up to fondle…_FONDLE, Merlin's trousers I'm really going to hell…_ the Slytherin's sack. It wrenched a shout of pleasure from Malfoy's wet lips, one that vibrated straight down to Harry's groin which was still impossibly hard.

"Potter, if you keep…ah, doing that I'm going to come. I'd much rather do it inside you, if you please," Malfoy bit out, trying desperately to sound conversational.

"Who decided you'd top? If anything, I should top. I've owned you in everything else," Harry reminded him darkly, giving another tight squeeze.

Malfoy's eyes rolled back into his head, but he managed to pant, "That's the ironic pleasure about it. And not everything Potter. I could kick your arse at Quidditch anytime. I was just too distracted by the way those uniform trousers fit it." He brought his hand up for a playful slap on Harry's bum before tumbling them over. "Besides, I know the charms and you don't."

The first argument was invalid, but Harry couldn't deny the sense of the second. _I'll top next time, _Harry thought to cheer himself up, then realized he was already planning a next time.

"_Accio_!" Draco called, settling the robes underneath Harry's head with a warning glare. With wand firmly in hand, the Slytherin pushed at Harry's knees until they spread painfully wide.

"Next time I'll do everything by hand," Malfoy panted, meeting Harry's viridian stare with a smile. "But I'm really running out of patience."

_Next time. _"Then stop lollygagging," Harry snapped. It was bad enough he was spread open like a One-Knut rentboy – they didn't need to start in-depth conversations now!

Malfoy chuckled. "Only you can say _lollygagging_ and still be undeniably sexy." He then broke off into a string of spells, some Harry recognized from when Ron was poring over naughty magazines to keep diseases at bay, while others were allusive. The last two, however, Harry found out the meaning the hard way. The ring of muscle in his arse felt as if it was stretched, not painfully, but uncomfortably so. The latter spell was more shocking and highly distressing – it slicked his channel with what felt like lube straight from a freezer.

"Ready Harry?" Malfoy asked, slinging the boy-in-question's legs around his waist. Harry nodded, shooting an unsure, twisted smile at the blond. He couldn't trust the blond as far as he could throw him, but one thing was for sure - Harry needed instant gratification and the Slytherin was offering it.

---

Despite his preparations, he was careful to enter Harry. He needed to make sure the Gryffindor felt as much pleasure as he, with the least amount of discomfort. Where he managed to swipe the Herculean patience from, however, Draco didn't know, but he would probably send an artfully penned thank you later. That's if he managed not to combust before the night was over.

"Salazar, Salazar, Salazar," the Slytherin chanted, trying to distract himself from the fact that Harry was unbelievably tight and hot and…_oh Merlin_.

Harry, on the other hand, was looking slightly unimpressed, and uncomfortable. But still watched Malfoy, slightly dazed with interest. Experimentally, Draco rocked himself against the brunet, making sure he was sheathed completely, as deep as possible. Harry winced, but continued to watch, a drop of sweat slicking between his eyebrows. _No glasses, _Draco thought suddenly. No wonder his green eyes were more intense than usual, more like fresh jade. But Draco couldn't focus too well, no. How this musing managed to find bearing in his lust clouded mind was irrelevant. What was important was satisfying the animalistic urge to fuck Harry to the dungeons._  
_

Draco slicked out only to slam back in. This elicited a response from the Gryffindor, who arched off the ground with a gasp. Now the brunet was the one stringing a mantra of curses together, trying to keep a sense of sanity. Draco bucked again, thrusting deeper into Harry's depths, grazing his prostrate this time. Harry cried out, his head falling back with the effort, while his hands came up to claw at Draco's shoulders.

"More," he pleaded through gasps. "Faster, harder, more."

Malfoy growled his response, snapping his hips back before plunging in, creating a thundering pace. Harry found the rhythm and impaled himself downward in time to deepen each thrust eventually, deepening in the feeling. He shouted in ecstasy beautifully until Draco smothered his cries with his lips. They kissed, far more passionately than before, the Gryffindor's nails biting into Draco's flesh as if to channel some of the energy snaking in his body.

"I'm going to lose it," Malfoy groaned, snaking a hand between them to pump at Harry's leaking cock. He nearly forgot in his own ectasy. Merlin, he didn't last half as long as he ought. "Harry…you're just soo…."

"Then come!" Harry hissed, squeezing his eyes shut as if in pain.

_Not until you do, lover_, Draco retorted internally because his mouth was too dry. He watched Harry through the buildup of the pleasure delaying his senses and completely lost it despite his original refusal. The brunet was just so beautiful in complete ecstasy, his head thrown back, his viridian eyes opened and smoldering yet seeing nothing. Malfoy bit his tanned neck in an effort not to scream as he let go of his orgasm in a rush. He rode out the walls of pleasure crashing over him, bringing Harry to his orgasm shortly after. He coated their stomachs in his seed, sticking their flesh together when Draco collapsed.

Colors passed behind the blond's eyelids, tastes, scents, smells. All the things his senses neglected while they tried to hold his orgasm came in overwhelming waves. He could smell Harry's woodsy scent, heightened by the sweat streaking down his skin, could taste the salt on his flesh. _This is new, he thought lightly, licking a bead of sweat caught in Harry's clavical. _ He could hear the way his lover's breath gasped underneath him, trembling in aftershocks. They shook together until the sweat dried on their skin, until their breaths became syncopated.

"That was brilliant," Harry murmured suddenly, hands coming up to stroke Draco's hair in a strange bout of intimacy.

The blond placed soft kisses over Harry's neck, where he was already starting to develop a bruise. _Should I really be this torn up that I hurt him?_ _I've hit him plenty a time afore._ Draco asked himself as he tasted the tender flesh. _I rather like having a claim on him...unhealthily even...but at a price of pain? _

"It was," he sighed, reaching over to grab his wand._ Not that there will be another_, he continued sadly.

Swallowing that pill, he cast a Cleaning Spell, slipping out his flaccid cock to lie besides the brunet. As if pulled by magnetic energy, Harry rested his head on Draco's chest, slinging an arm over his waist. Draco really should have known the Gryffindor would be a cuddler. Draco didn't mind, however odd the notion was. He didn't mind being held half as much as he thought he would – then again, he didn't seem to mind anything when Harry did it. He remembered the way the brunet carefully took in all of him, caressing every patch of skin he could find reverently. Draco was beyond being modest or shameful or embarrassed now: what had he to hide? Better yet, _how_ could he? Compared to Harry's exploitation earlier, cuddling was easy. None of Draco's ex-lovers were interested in the sensuality of sex, rather the demands, the power, the control. Yet Harry was content to drag his fingers over the _Sectumsempra_ scar, instead of cringing in disgust as others had when Draco didn't cast a glamour.

_It'll be easy to love him_, Draco thought, staring down at the tanned expanse of Potter's back, the curve of his supple arse. He brought his hand up to caress the skin of Harry's lower-back, delighting when the brunet broke out in goosebumps.

"We're going to leave now, and avoid each other's gazes for days and pretend this never happened now, huh?" Harry asked quietly. He had tried not to sound so ragged, but his voice still had a raspy edge.

It took a while for Draco to come out of his reverie and actually process Harry's words. When he finally did, a sick feeling came into his stomach, killing the afterglow. Staring up at the stars, he retorted, "Only if you wish it." They were glittering, much like Harry's eyes. "Don't get Hufflepuff on me now Potter. I offered you a relationship, to be my lover. You never responded."

Harry frowned into Draco's chest. "So I'm back to Potter now?"

"No…? Harry, if you're expecting me to push you off and stride away you are mistaken." Draco tilted the brunet's head up and kissed his infamous scar, trailing his lips down his straight nose, to his twisted pout. "I want you in more ways than one. I told you this before we…."

"I know," Harry said wistfully. "I was just making sure you didn't have a Slytherin plot, or changed your mind or something."

Draco tried not to smile, but he couldn't fight it. "I do not have a plot, Harry, I assure you. Time only has the ability to tell, right?"

He twisted further into Draco's side, hiding his face under the curve of his chin, deciding not to respond. He shivered and then Draco realized they were on the Astronomy Tower, early in the morning, in February. The wind was possibly brutal since he stepped onto the Tower, but why hadn't he noticed it before? _No matter now,_ Draco sighed, going to grab his wand, only to find it had flipped away during their activities. Again, no matter. He cast a nonverbal and wandless heating charm and Conjured a blanket, which he noted was a green similar to Harry's eyes, but not quite – it had too much blue.

Harry snuggled underneath the blanket, twining his legs with Malfoy's. "You're really good with those… wandless and all that."

_Of all the conversations to choose from…. _"I had a lot of practice time during the war."

"Oh," Harry murmured, voice thick with disapproval.

"That and I've been taking auror prep classes to starve away boredom," Draco added, trying to win the brunet's good graces although it was somewhat of a lie. He merely joined the auror classes in hopes Harry might be there and then to just to be spiteful.

"Really? You're interested in being an auror?" Harry's head popped out from Draco's neck to prop on his chest, atop his arms rather cutely. His green eyes were wide and sweetly inquisitive. He looked rather reminiscent of a Crup.

Resisting the urge to kiss the adorable Gryffindor, he responded, "Not particularly…. I'm more interested in learning as much about magic as I can. I do not really need to actually _work_. I could live off what I have inherited thus far, or go into my father's business of stock managing." Draco sighed, lips twisting at the idea. "But my mother, I believe you have met her, has taken that burden, allowing me to inspect other fields. I have considered being a freelance Curse Breaker though."

"Curse Breaker?" Harry frowned. "You mean running from country to country messing with Dark Magic."

Draco shrugged, shooting the Gryffindor a wolfish grin. "If anyone has the credentials, it would be me, don't you agree?" It was quite obvious that the brunet agreed, but didn't _want_ to. Semi-consciously, his hand gripped Draco's forearm and caressed the Dark Mark. A shiver rolled underneath Draco's skin that was not quite pain, but also not quite pleasure.

"And you don't know yet?" Draco prodded, feeling selfish for speaking so long. His life wasn't half as interesting as Harry's.

"No… I'm not really _good_ at one thing." The Gryffindor frowned deeper. The expression, paired with his drooping eyelids, made him look endearing and childishly petulant. "Quidditch is fun, but I don't want the publicity that comes with it. And I don't want to dedicate my life fighting dark wizards – I already spent seventeen years doing that."

"Maybe you'll feel differently at the end of the year," Draco suggested. He caressed the black mop on his head, ruffling the already haywire curls. "You have time and it is not like whatever field you choose will not welcome you gladly."

Harry yawned. "I suppose. But I don't want to be accepted just because I _murdered_ someone, yuhnoe?"

"I do," Draco said, carding through his locks. They were soft, undeniably so, and smelled just as musky as the rest of him. "Salazar knows I do."

"You're not so bad," Harry said, breaking the silence overwhelming them, voice laden with sleep. "I don't think I'll mind you as my, uhm…lover."

Draco laughed at the unexpected statement, holding the Gryffindor tightly. "I either shagged you barmy or you're merely sleep-deprived to admit _that_. Hoping that it's the latter, go to sleep, Potter."

After a moment, a soft sigh came from the Wizarding World's Saviour, indicating he was completely knocked out. _I'll have to work on his stamina,_ Draco thought wearily, continuing to rake through the brunet's hair until he, himself, fell asleep.

---

Harry awoke first, much to his personal pleasure. He reached out for the Slytherin, who was cocooned in blankets, only his blond hair sticking out at odd angles. _Go figure_, Harry thought. Of course the selfish, egotistical blond would be a blanket-hog.

Harry eased some of the sheets away and frowned when pale flesh was exposed. His nails had left deeper marks that he initially assumed – they were angry red scratches marring his shoulder blades. Some were scabbed over already, but still essentially going to scar.

"Way to start out on the right foot," Harry said hopelessly to himself, placing a kiss on the wounds. The blond shivered, but made no movements to indicative to being awake.

Harry sat up and reached around, looking for his wand. Instead, he found himself not on the Astronomy Tower, but a bed. _Well that explains why my back doesn't feel on fire_. However nice the notion was though, Harry was beginning to appreciate it less. By the look of the emerald green sheets, the silver hangings and what looked like a snake motif around cobbled dungeon walls, he was in the Slytherin dormitories. _He's going to kill me,_ Harry thought immediately, looking more fervently for his wand.

He found it laid haphazardly with Draco's on the nightstand (along with the glasses he quickly affixed on his face), which settled Harry's fear. Malfoy wouldn't just leave his wand in reach if he was planning something nefarious. Calmed, he took a moment to take in the room, which seemed to be the prefect's, for it was smaller and hosted only one bed. Again, relief overcame him and then a bit of self-flagellation; he really needed to give the blond some credit.

Harry turned back to the sleeping blond with a twisted smile, trying to drink in the image he didn't have the ability to the night before. He was still sleeping peacefully, unknowing of Harry's minor breakdown. His face was relaxed and ever-still pale in the dank light of the dungeons. While in the moonlight he was blindingly luminescent, in the dungeons he seemed almost fey. Shadows danced over his sharp detailing, emphasizing them with a romantic seriousness. He was still a pointy git, but he also matured into the patrician elegance of his features, dominating them instead of vice versa. The platinum hair that was splayed across the pillows looked electrically charged and ever so soft. _So beautiful…all of him, so beautiful. _Harry carefully wound his hand through the fine locks, smiling when the blond leaned into the brunet's palm.

With a sigh, Harry brought his wand up to the scratches marring Draco's skin. It was the _least_ he could do. Though, to be honest, the Gryffindor was _rubbish_ with healing charms. He might as well try though.

"Don't you dare, Potter," Draco murmured weakly, flashing his steady gaze. "I rather like knowing you marked me."

Harry frowned, but let his wand drop away. He placed it back on the nightstand, gripping the Slytherin towards him instead until they were spooning. Harry inhaled the scent of his neck, which reminded him of amber and sandalwood, but not so heady. It was light, dizzying, like rain.

_Leave it to Malfoy to make me poetic_, Harry sighed.

"It's early yet," Draco purred, running his fingers over the curve of Harry arse. "Maybe I will even let you top this time."

Harry winced: his body was sore from the extraneous activities last night, especially the part of him Draco was happily caressing. Instead, he hastily responded, "I can't with all these snakes looking down at me. Don't you find them creepy?"

Draco laughed, the sound free and actually shocking. "You're lucky I managed to talk Nott into letting me borrow this room – the dormitories are worse. Opposed to all those sexy lions I bet are ravaging every inch of wall space. Mm…perhaps next time we'll go there. Though I'm sure there are anti-Slytherin wards. Or maybe the Weasels will catch my scent and hex me into next year."

"Weasleys," Harry corrected, ignoring the first true bit. "And they'll come around…unless you don't want to go public or anything…."

The blond turned around in Harry's arms, his iron gaze scorching and teasing. "After one night, you're already considering marriage. How adorable."

"M-marriage?" Harry sputtered, eyes wide. "I'm just talking about our uhm…relationship."

"I say we keep it low. Although I'm fine being your dirty little secret, Potter – no, Harry, I am sure your Gryffindor honesty would not be able to help itself." He smiled, kissing the side of Harry's neck, reassuring the brunet that he wasn't being critical. "Let's wait and see."

Harry sighed. It sounded like the best bet for now, though he was half-content. One half of him wanted to scream from the Astronomy Tower that he and Malfoy were…_involved_ while the other half was afraid to take it so fast. Not too long ago he was trying to keep the blond at bay and now he was openly welcoming him. It _was_ too fast to process, but then again why put it under a microscope? Harry spent too many years examining every little action - so much that he forgot to live. Whether being with Malfoy was morally right or wrong was irrelevant. Draco made him feel good, physically. That was enough for now.

The aforementioned-blond pulled himself out of the bed first, standing unashamed in his nudity. He flashed Harry a perfect smile before grabbing toiletries from the organized room. Harry watched him, taking in the quiver of his thigh, the slope of his back, the way his muscles tensed and contracted. And the blond was happy to allow Harry an opportunity to gawk. He stopped at the doorway however and flashed a sexy grin, opening it to reveal a large bath. Harry watched him play with knobs and such rather erotically, with emphasized strokes; watched him carefully fold his clothes and towels, which gave a lovely view of Draco's supple ass as he bent over. When the water filled, he shot the brunet a "come hither" glance.

"C'mon Potter. Are you going to stare, or are you going to accompany me? You need a bath too, laddy-love."

What would become of their relationship could wait, Harry decided, tossing his glasses aside while scrambling to join the blond (ignoring the twinge of pain in his arse). For now, he just couldn't find flaw in the Slytherin's devious logic, and nor would he try.


End file.
